Well, I guess you'd like a race report....

The Soapinator and I are home from the airport now, waiting to return to the airport to pick up the rest of The Tribe. Trihubby, who is just plain awesome, has all the AV equipment, so this post will be a little shy on pictures, yes that includes the oh-so-sweet-I-can't -believe- I- actually- did- that- tattoo, picture from my lower back.

Did you know your booty clevage and your spine don't line up?

You do now. No, really go check the mirror. I had to decide which landmark I wanted to accentuate. I went with spine. I'm not a plumber so it was a no brainer.

Robostu, Kahuna, Trihubby and I had a riot of a night last night, a fitting farewell to the whole Panama gig. Allow me to just say, I'm glad my wild friend Iron Jenny had gone home earlier in the day or there was a fighting chance we would have left Coyote Ugly having danced on the bar while leaving our bolder holders in the rafters. Ironman will do that to you. As it was, the savor merely continued and I left Panama feeling as though I'd gained two brothers. Although this was evident from night one, when Robo Stu, not even remembering my first name, (sigh), gazed longingly at my unfinished chicken burritos.

"Are you just going to take those home to your hotel refridgerator?"

How could Trimama deny a starving triathlete?

And so this man, a relative stranger, consummed the remainder of my meal. I'm not even certain he switched over to his own fork. But Ironman will do that to you.

To think, a year minus one week ago I'd never ridden a road bike in my life and had only accumulated 42 miles during 3 separate rides, on my brand new tri bike before winter shut down out door riding. I signed up to do a freakin ironman terrified of biking. I didn't know why I signed up for that race. I just knew had to take the plunge. The only way that works is if you don't tell your soul what your body can't do when you feel an irresistable tug on your heart.

That's why I didn't let my soul know, (or any of you for that matter), that my right arm was so screwed up from swimming that I couldn't raise it above my head right up until last Friday. Somehow my little header off of my bike, where I landed full force on my chin and left shoulder helped. Both arms were totally messed up. But I couldn't tell my soul that, because my heart had to carry me through a 2.4 mile ocean swim. Ironman will do that for you. I went to bed the night before ironman with two painful shoulders, but I hadn't travelled this far to quit, and frankly, I didn't care if I couldn't lift my arms for a week I was going to do that swim.

You know by now that we awoke to wind, waves and Minnesota morning. It was just cold. Everyone did what they could to keep warm, but there was a lot of shivering going on out there. Didn't lessen the intensity of anticipation a bit though, where nervous smiles and clusters of friends praying together and encouraging each other dotted the beach.

There are no atheist on Ironman beaches. Especially when 1100 iron newbies are staring at 3 to 6 foot seas, bombed the previous day to keep sharks away, (ok, it's good I didn't find that out until the day after the race) and we were about to lose one of our own in the water.

Jenny and I caught up with Trihubby in the lobby of the host hotel, surprisingly not so crowded, to warm up and do the final carbo unload. (my consistently good omen that it will be a great race day) There was no line for the nice indoor bathroom, and I warmed up to a place of no more chattering. Yea, I guess it takes a Minnesotan to figure out you come inside when windchill is a factor :-) We made our way to the beach a few minutes before the pro canon, warm and ready to race. One quick prayer with Triboomer, and it was time.

Other ironmen will get this. The time leading up the start of the race seems to just freeze. It's a moment when a room opens in your soul, and the persona that you have built with hours of physical and especially mental training walks out, ready to take on the day. All of the doubts, all of the the "I can't do this" are absent. It's just you and the task at hand. Any other day and I would have been freaked out by those waves. I would have been overwhelmed with doubt in swimming one, much less two laps out there. But on this day, no fear. Ironman will do that for you.

Jenny and I loosened up by dancing on the beach. What are you going to do? It was great music, and yes there is video.

Then it was time, and the canon fired. I took the inside line, behind the first wave of Kona heads, and set out to take down every guacamole dorito buoy in my line of sight. My only concern on the swim was the first turn buouy and what was going to happen when the pros caught us.

By now you know my mantra, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

About 500 yards out is when I first noticed the sparkly lights. Initially I thought it was the sun glinting off of the divers face masks, but they didn't go away even as the yards moved passed. Thousands of sparkly lights.

"Dory, no!!!"

I'll be damned, those were jelly fish. Lots of jellyfish. In my mind the waves kept the jelly fish away. I'll take waves and frightened jelly fish anyday. They just hovered well below the surface. Thank god! (Although I did get stung 3 times on the second lap. It hurts like a bee sting but goes away much faster.)

The buoy was tight and chaotic, and ultimately I had to pass it on the left (hitting it as I went) because an older man was hanging on to it and everytime I tried to move around it I was hitting into a wave of people and the buoy was getting blown around by the waves. This is about the time the pros passed, and I got konked on the head hard.

More sparkly lights, but this time not from jelly fish. Just keep swimming. We had about a 200 yard swim across the waves to the next turn buoy, and damn that was fun. It was like body surfing fun. Wouldn't want to do the whole 4000 yards that way, but it was ok while it lasted.

Then, into shore, down the beach and back into the surf. I just kept tellling myself every dorito I pass was one less dorito, and I needed to savor the moments. Who knows when I'll ever get a chance to do this again. This is the ocean for goodness sakes. I was swimming in the ocean, on my ironman.

The second lap was easier in the sense that there were fewer bodies in the water, but more difficult because there were fewer fellow swimmers to site off of, and there was little to no sighting in the surf. You had to make an effort to sight on the strokes you happened to be at the top of a swell, otherwise it was just a wall of water in your face. The final run to shore was weird in that the current was going right to left and the waves were going left to right. I just kept rotating my arms and working my breathing and before I knew it I was seeing the bottom again, and then hitting the sandbar, and it was up and out of the water. I had just swam an ironman swim and no one could ever take that away from me.

I cheered and high fived up through the shoot, even pausing to five Mike Reilly, that swim was just fantastic. It took a few moments to find Trihubby in the stripping area, but then he caugt me up in a huge bearhug and we laughed and whooped a little. In no time his team had me out of my wet suit and on my way.

Trihubby later told me that he was really worried for me out on the swim. I guess from the shore it looked nasty out there, bodies and waves thrashing and trashing.

I finished the swim in 1:26:XX Four minutes faster than my outside goal time of 1:30 that I was hoping for, which was very cool for an old Trimama broad with bad shoulders. According to my watch, my swim splits were 36 minutes from the point of stroking to feet on sand for lap 1 and 45 minutes for lap 2. So, it took me about 4 minutes to putz on the beach and get back into the surf.

More on the shoulders, the bike and the holy cow I ran the entire marathon and of course the finish,

but for now I need to go get my Tribe at the airport.

Trimama, you are an Ironman

The only thing sweeter than hearing Mike Reilly say that at 8:42 pm was the sight of The Tribe waiting at the kids chute to run me through the tape. We had the chute to ourselves, we got to break the tape, and we had done it!

I am an Ironman. I couldn't have done it without their love, Trihubby's unfaltering support, the love of my friends and family and of course the overwhelming encouragement of all you in the blogosphere.

We had a awesome day at the pool yesterday, drinking tequila and beers, savoring...

So, more to report of course, but later.

Thanks for all of your cheering and encouragement

Ironmania

Bags are checked in, bikes are racked, prayers are said, now it's just a good night's sleep then

2.4, 112, and 26.2.

But what would an Ironman be without drama?

I exhausted my drama today.

I almost never flat-bike arrived with the stem poking through the tube. Change the tire. I stopped timing myself when the clock passed 20 minutes. I always forget how to do it until I've done it. No matter, tire changed and practice ride complete. I expect a full tube when I arrive in the morning.

Practice ride. Ugg. I have only crashed my bike once, and that was on my trainer in the basement. I always wondered what it would feel like. Be careful what you ask for.

Allow for a little IM narration:

I met up with Robostu, Bolder, and Iron Jenny to take a ride and drop our gear transition bags. As we rode down the busy little tourist road I balanced my bags slung on my shoulder,rolling rolling...

"hmm, I think I forgot to reclamp my rear brake when I changed the tire" check brake, yep, not tight.

"I'll have to fix that when we stop. We are rolling slow, so the front brake should suffice."

"I really shouldn't sling my bag on my shoulder like that. It might roll down my arm and bump my tire, I need to adjust that..."

No sooner had the thought left my little brain, than my bag slid down my shoulder, caught in my wheel and

see Trimama.

Seee Trimama fly.

See Trimama really happy that the car following her was paying attention and pulled the side to keep Trimama from being hit by the cars behind him.

See Trimama sit dazed for a minute, wondering what in the heck just happened.

See Trimama see stars.

By the time I stood back up, Iron Jenny and Stu had circled back.

Robo Stu, (one of the nicest guys I've ever met) offered to take my bags the remainder of the ride. We rode down to the Transition area with me checking my parts, rolling my neck and opening my jaw.

Everything is working. I have a nice round bruise on my chin when I hit the aero bar, my shoulder is stiff and my knee has a welt, but like they say, what doesn't kill you makes you an ironman.

Funnyy thing, no more nerves.

It took a jolt to the head, but now we're right as rain.

So much to say, but it's bed time. Ideal weather tomorrow, especially for us Minnesotoans for whom 45 in the am is cause for shorts.

The Tribe is here, t-shirted and ready to cheer.

Thanks to all for the well wishes, it's time to become an Ironman.

Taconite Boy will be updating for all throughout the day- hopefully might even post a few pics.

Trimama out!

Question of the Week

But first, congrats to Hyphen Girl and her soccer team for capturing the league championship yesterday. The girls won 2-1 and 4-2 in games yesterday, taking the championship from the highly favored team that beat them a few weeks back. Yea, that was fun. This was Hyphen Girl's first season and it was exciting to watch her grow as a player over the course of the season. The team graduates their goalie this year, so I'm already working on her to take up her mom's old position :-)

Now on the the question of the week. As the readers of my blog will know, I've called into question the "man card" status of a certain Boulderite for whining like a school girl because his diswasher broke down. I know it's tough washing your Vera Wang "Love Knots" by hand, but for goodness sake, nuts up and at least try to find the handle end of the screwdriver.

And thus I descend deeper into my karmic appliance sink hole. Since impugning the Bolderette, my appliances have universally rebelled and gone on the blink. And I mean appliances plural. Sink is dripping, dishwasher leaving crust, fridge/freezer warm, oven cold, disposal backing up. In infinte Trimama wisdom, I fixed the freezer/fridge, but everything else is just plain tempermental. With the pending chore of packing the Tribe off to Florida, I can't afford this quirk to float down toward my laundry room, so I wrote to The Bold and begged him for absolution. I imagined he would respond with his typical booty call, which I feel fairly confident to pull off in my Iron shapened body,

BUT NOooooooooo!

He went for the heart.

He demands the ancient oblation of the gods of old.

Just as Jepthah long ago, in the jubilation of defeating the Ammonites offers to sacrifice to the Lord the first thing that comes from his house, only to be met by his beloved daughter, who he must now sacrifice to keep his word,

I too am being asked to sacrifice my first born to the magnificent, all caring, biker god, Bolder.

To assuage his wounded pride I must change the name of the one and only Hyphen Girl to "Bold"

What would you do?

A) Send HG to Boulder for a week, let him deal with the disorder that is 13, in hopes that by day 2 he'd send her packing name and all.

B) Change the name, for what's in a name? A rose by any other would smell as sweet.

C) Entreat the blogosphere to so press the Bold with indignation and bribes that he might renounce his claim on HG?

D) Please feel free to add


Taper: what doesn't kill you makes you ready to roll. 6 days baby!

#2297

Finished in fine form the past three years the number was assigned-meaning to carry on the tradition.

IMFL Schedule

I could have been Julie McCoy on The Love Boat-you're friendly cruise director. I'm sure at one point in life I had hair like that. I'm getting antsy to know my plans for Florida, so here is what I have come up with, trying to implement a simple way for my fellow gator bait IM er's to catch up with each other.

Weds: I arrive with the Soapinator about noon. Tan and Taper by the pool at The Inn at St. Thomas Square. Sorry, no tequila, see Sunday.

Thurs: Swim with the Soapinator. 8:15 in front of the Boardwalk Hotel (host site). My training buddy Iron Jenny will be there as well so that makes for a safe swim. I know they have sponsored swim times, but they weren't listed in the athlete guide, and I want to get a feel for the water in the morning. Hot beverages and bagels to follow the swim.

10:00 Ironman village, REGISTRATION!!!!!!!!!
11:15 Drop swag at hotel
11:30 regroup in The Inn parking lot to drive the bike course- lunch somewhere along the way.
3:00 (at the latest) return to hotel
3:45 Pick up the rest of The Tribe at the airport
Evening carb load dinner, (Iron Shelly is bringing signs for blog fest), Kahuna's multimedia production and athlete meeting.
8:00 or so, nice evening stroll along the ocean

Friday
8:00 or so, another ocean swim and run (maybe 15 minutes each)
12:00 picnic with all of the kiddos
2:00 bike drop, tour Iron Village, etc
4:00 final calorie load meal

8:30 or so bed

Saturday Whoooo Hoooo Hoooo!!!!!!!

Sunday: Tequila, tanning and tattoos by the pool!!

I'll bring my laptop along to update as changes occur and I have several cell numbers. If I don't have yours and you want to join in on the festivites, email me your number and when you arrive in town.

Can't wait to meet all of you and your families

I dropped my gear bag off this am and I was shaking as I packed it, I think that qualifies as excited.

I the immortal words of Marvin Gaye

Let's Get It On!!!!!!

Final 2 hour spin

The final 2 hour spin is in the bag. Now it's all training indoors all the time. I'm trying to find the hottest/steamiest enviroments to train in now, to keep some semblance of warm weather training. I dropped Bubble Bike off at my local bike shop, where it all began 20 months ago, for a final tune up and shipment to Florida. It was snowing when I pulled into the parking lot. There are palm trees in the transition area in Florida. That is a Trimama transition area. I can't wait to put my feet in the ocean again, Florida, here we come!

Question of the week

You are at the YMCA, happily contemplating your final two mile swim while showering, when your boss comes through the locker room leading a tour of prospective Y members, the tour pauses in the shower room to have a view of the sauna, you:

A) Hug your naked body against the shower wall, praying that no one will notice you behind the skimpy six inch shower curtain.

B) Fling the curtain aside, strike your favorite "muscle" pose and exclaim, you want a bod like this, then join the YMCA!

C) Hopeful of a diversion, you fling your shampoo bottle across the room, then while everyone is distracted by the sound, whisk over to the locker room and hide yourself in a locker.

D) Feel free to add your own

Did you notice I said final two mile swim! Yea baby!

I can't drink her pop, we don't share the same soul

Only a 10 year old girl could apply metaphysics to gatorade, and unfortunately I didn't have time to discuss the concept of "soul mates" with Soapinator and her friend at yesterday's soccer game. So, I'm down two gatorades. No matter, it's taper time. I feel at a loss for what to do, being fully convinced now that all of my conditioning is diminishing exponetially and that I will arrive in Florida barely able to run down the sand into the surf. The logic of taper is so irrational. Hyphen Girl is playing soccer this fall and we froze as spectators at last nights game, but it was worth the effort-the girls won 2-1.

It's Soapinator's birthday today, yea for ten years of blessing with this kid. She's just one of those kids who are easy to have around, and her birthday reminds us how fortunate we are.

Buck Naked Boy is a whole other story, unless of course, you want a detailed description of chest proportions. He is at that stage where a keen awareness of body parts dominates his thoughts, and tonight he filled me in on the size and shape of each family members breasts, boys included, while we peeled potatos. Fascinating, I assure you.

We had recess duty yesterday. Mostly same old, same old. With the exception of Queen Gertrude. One of the first grade girls had convinced a large contingent of the kindergarten class that she was "Queen of Everything" She had many loyal subjects, some of whom even paid her money to curry favor and remain as subjects in her kingdom. The kingdom came to an end yesterday when the first grade teachers resolved the drama, and Gertrude isn't allowed to play with kindergarteners for two days. Who says the devil wears Prada?

Then there was "Hammy"

Hammy was heaved over the chain link fence that marks the border of the playground. It took 20 questions to finally understand what Hammy was and why it was so important to retrieve. Turns out the fifth grade class had discovered a dead squirrel, adopted it as their own, buried it and Hammy was the memorial stone.

Yea, gross. In particular, because as I understand it, Hammy was "sacred" because parts of the squirrel were petrified to it.

Ironman North America sent me an email today. The last "out"

"We will be assigning race numbers for IMFL on Friday, October 20th. If you do not intend to race and do not want to be assigned a number please contact us."

No chance.

Of course it would be great to get #1406. Time to start packing the warm weather clothes up for The Tribe, we leave 2 weeks from today.

Zoinks!

Question of the week

Whew, got this in under the wire. If you are going to add a weekly feature, it's probably best not to take it on during the apex of Ironman training, tax deadlines and the tornado that is The Tribe's weekly output. That being said, here is this weeks question(s)- yes, two for the price of one, they are related.

If the means by which we measure a man's fortitude is by his (insert favorite_______ eg balls, kahones, etc) what is the true measure of a woman?

a) It's woman's lib, she can have balls if she wants to (which I don't because apparently it brings up a whole other level of underwear concern Kahuna I'll send you a nice, supple, man purse to hold your SERIOUSLY IN JEAPORDY man card.

b) Utilize an allegorical standard of measure where the gender distinction is fuzzy at best- say WNBA, as in that chick is WNBA X's 5. (what???? Oh, I suppose you think WNBA is sersely rockin hoops.)

c) Format your own scale based on other female anatomical parts. But see, this really doesn't work, as we have already established that falsies sink.

d) Please feel free to add your own (but keep it tasteful, Hyphen Girl and my father in law frequent this site- sorry dad)

NEXT QUESTION

If the measure of a man is validated by his "man" card, which is certainly revoked by the following:

1) Undue adulation of Kelly Clarkson music (music, not the hawt chick herself)

2) Prattling on about dishwashers and coordinated wash utensils

3) Reveling publicly (note public-ly) about the glory of supple underwear

4) Again, feel free to add on..

Then,

How is the measure of a woman validated? In other words, what are the credentials of a chick card?

No multiple choice on this one class, it's blue book time. (For those of you not old enough to recall the era of blue book exams-that means essay)

Text Message, IM and otherwise incomplete prose will be returned without a grade. And yes, spelling counts.

Snow??? Now that could be a problem

My final century ride was scheduled for Friday of this week. However, we have out of town guests for the weekend, so I moved the ride to Wednesday. That was until I saw snow in the forecast.

SNOW!!!!!

Excuse me, I'm training for an Ironman here.

So, I moved my final "long" ride to yesterday. It was 42 degrees when I set out. But, there was no rain, and variable winds, so all in all, the ride went well. I took my "flat" loop that winds around the city, which takes me on a bike lane through the downtown area. You exit downtown and head back out into the first tier burbs. I was still within smelling distance of the city sewer gas when I almost ran smack into three deer.

Yes, deer. White tail, four legged, 250 pound, rats.

In downtown!

I saw them on the path from about 50 yards out, and they had no intention of moving. So I yelled. And they looked at me as if I had a 1000 watt halogen strapped to my head. Well, they were encamped near downtown. Between the cabbies, the homeless people and the stressed out, they are probably used to crazy people yelling at them.

They didn't move. I don't think they even blinked.

I considered a run at deer bowling.

But it was 3-1 and I was on bubble bike.

So, I crossed to the other side of the path and rode on by, close enough to hear their breath.

I hear venison is a nice lean alternative to beef.

Trihubby needs your help, please, a little intervention would be nice.

Swim/run today- oh I'm glad to be seeing the starting line that marks the end of training.

Happy and safe trails

Answers and more questions

"B" and "C"

My first reaction to Marathon singer was to turn and ask him to sing louder, with an "I love that song" and just as I was about to do so, I remembered this was probably an "A" race for him and he was in his own space, enjoying the day. There is nothing like a little course humiliation to ruin the experience, so I thought it kindest to leave him to his Billy Joel, thankful for the laugh. "For the longest time" lingered in my brain until we hit the Lake of the Isles bridge with The Hallelujah Chorus blasting from a bose system that wouldn't fit in my living room. Perfect.

Now, onward to more pressing matters.

With all of this training Taconite Boy and I feel like Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head with our parts falling off. So, if anyone has a spare right arm, email me and I'll give you my address. While we are at it, I might try a new nose...

At any rate, I'm lying a little low this week, sort of a recovery week, sort of I stacked all of my "key" workouts in the front of the week, which leaves extra time for life's little observations.

Speaking of Potato Heads, many of you know we bought this little girl this past springNot bad for a little drop kick, and her name is "Re" yes, as in "I need to consult with you re: the Jones account" Don't ask. Re is a mix breed comprised of Shiatzu (sp?) and toy poodle, thus a shi poo. This is the back end of Re, which I've had extra time to observe this week. Stay with me here. Yesterday, BNB and I caught up with Trihubby for some lunch and Re came along for the ride. This is where I observed that Re, being the potatohead that she is, has a poodle back and a shiatzu front. Kid you not, the dog is in permanant aero
position. This tilt is not a simple case of her nose being on the ground, no, when she is level, she is not level, she is aero.

Can I get a refund?

Who do I consult re: Re?



It's a perfect biking day, so I'm breaking protocol and heading out for a 25 miler than a swim tonight.

Have a great weekend and Wish Swinging Girl a super sweet 16 birthday!

Question of the week

Perhaps a new weekly feature at Trimama.com?

If you are running in a race, say, a marathon, and the athlete two steps behind you starts to sing out loud the song on his ipod you:

A) Shrug and go into passing gear to run on the other side of the road

B) Exclaim, "I love that Billy Joel song" and sing along out loud with him, knowing that since you sing slightly off tune anyhow, between the two of you there is wonderful harmony.

C) Remain indifferent, run another mile, then bang your head against a tree because you can't shake the Billy Joel song from your head

D) Other (feel free to add on)

Running the monkey off my back

Last year I ran the Twin Cities Marathon, my first marathon, and frankly, had a terrible race. It wasn't supposed to be a terrible race. It was supposed to be the lynch pin on which I rested my decision to sign up for Ironman Florida. I thank God for perspective, because if I had allowed that race to be the lynch pin, I wouldn't be sitting here less than a month from tracing my name in the sand with my toes. (Yea, I'm making a starting line for myself) I ran that day with the weight of the world on my shoulders. At mile 5, I ran by the road that marked me four miles from home. It took every ounce of will to move on to mile 6. I ran to mile 6 because I wanted to keep a legitimate claim on pushing The Tribe to finish what they start and to start aiming big. By mile 12 I was a crying mess, blubbering to Trihubby that I just can't do this, not on this day. I had accumulated hundreds of training miles for this race, but I just didn't have it on this day. I tuned in my mp3 and just tried to let the road absorb me, pushing back the demons that were having a field day in my mind. I hyperventilated from miles 17-19 and merely accepted my fate at The Wall. And I ran on. I sort of knew that if I had quit, I couldn't sign up for Florida, and for god only knows why, I really, really wanted Florida. I ran along Summit, and up and over the hill, and down the hill, thankful to just see the finish line. When I crossed that line, I cried. And I cried for over an hour. Every thing just came out at that moment.

Fast forward one year.

Yesterday I ran 18 miles of the Twin Cities Marathon. My training plan called for a 2:40 run, so why not in race conditions, along a beautiful course, fully supported? When my running buddy, Henry, and I made our way to the starting corral we saw a middle age couple with stuffed animal monkeys pinned to their backs. I laughed at that metaphor, as I'm sure they pulled them off at the finish line. It was a glorious day to run. Cool morning, with the sun gradually heating up the day. Half a million spectators lining the course, bluebird sky, slight breezes, just fabulous. And I ran the race I was looking for last year. No ear phones, just me, the sounds of fall, 10,000 other runners and the fans. I floated past mile 5, and laughed at the thought of turning, I can't believe I'd thougth that way last year. Mile after mile, I chatted with my neighbors, breathed in fall and just ran. I barely noticed passing mile 13, until it hit me, wow I just ran a half marathon. Only 5 miles to go. Then, as I passed mile 16, where I saw a man stop running, go to the side and smoke a cigarette, that it hit me; it is so much easier to run with the monkey off your back.

I hit mile 18 feeling great, knowing I could certainly run another 8 miles to the finish line. But this race wasn't a lynch pin, it was a training run, so I left the course with all that good vibration bottled up.

Last week I biked 120 or so miles, swam 4 or so miles, and ran the monkey off my back.

I call that a good week. Now it's off to the pool

Trimama tres sheik

Ok Paris, New York, I'm waiting! Apparently everyone wants in onTrimama fashion.

Hat tip to Wendy who has no link because she has no blog, but really should because she is insightful and funny and a dynamic swimmer chick who's brother is doing IMmoo '07.

My training week is going well, which brings me to another point. Ahem, "who knows what's next"
Lana, IMFL is 36 days away. Which means registration for IMFL '07 is in 37 days.

The monumental question is, who is going to step up and fill Trimama's shoes for '07. Someone's gotta represent the cool chicks next year in Florida.

Will it be you?

When I signed up for this journey last year I had never raced farther than a long sprint, in a rookie season, had only recently ran my first marathon, was training on a mountain bike, was still pretty self congratulatory when I swam a whole mile and really didn't have much of a clue about anything.

So, who is next?

The ride to no where

Yea, this could be trouble.

In my defense, when he came home last night, dinner was hot, his beer was cold and I rolled out his back with the massage stick.

Riding yesterday was fabulous, until the two "county" roads I planned to take turned out to be more freeway, with no shoulder, than "county". I have one last 100 or so miler to tackle, I think I'll do a little more re con this time. As it is, when I called Trihubby for some map help, he happened to mention the downpour that was flogging the streets where he was at. I don't mind drizzle, sprinkle, rain shower, but downpour meant getting soaked, and I still had 2.5 hours to ride. That's just misery in the making. So, my ride had a slight diversion. After the drop off, I rode for another 22 miles outside, than brought it home and finished on the trainer. So, that gives me 5.5 hours of actual time moving, which took 6 hours, over the course of 7.5 hours. I guess that's one way to learn patience.

3300 yd swim with 40 min run today

Happy trails

The ride to no where

Yea, this could be trouble.

In my defense, when he came home last night, dinner was hot, his beer was cold and I rolled out his back with the massage stick.

Riding yesterday was fabulous, until the two "county" roads I planned to take turned out to be more freeway, with no shoulder, than "county". I have one last 100 or so miler to tackle, I think I'll do a little more re con this time. As it is, when I called Trihubby for some map help, he happened to mention the downpour that was flogging the streets where he was at. I don't mind drizzle, sprinkle, rain shower, but downpour meant getting soaked, and I still had 2.5 hours to ride. That's just misery in the making. So, my ride had a slight diversion. After the drop off, I rode for another 22 miles outside, than brought it home and finished on the trainer. So, that gives me 5.5 hours of actual time moving, which took 6 hours, over the course of 7.5 hours. I guess that's one way to learn patience.

3300 yd swim with 40 min run today

Happy trails

Some brief notes

Yesterday The Plan called for an 1:20 bike ride "just for fun" Mountain bike, catch ups whatever you want to do. How could you not, on a bluebird day, with crimson dappling the sunshine, strike out on your mountain bike? We have a park close by with numerous double and single track trails. Man, is it good to be alive! So, that was training yesterday.

Tomorrow is a 5.5 hour bike ride, rolling hills, heart rate 1 or 2. Tomorrow calls for a high of 55 with lows (meaning when I head out the door) of 42. and rain. The plan actually calls for the long ride on Friday, but I am running the Twin Cities Marathon, or at least 18 miles of it on Sunday. Trihubby registered and had to drop, so I'm taking his place to run part of the race as a race day simulation. So, it's biking tomorrow. Time to break out the tights, hoodies and toe warmers.

Kahuna if you ask what toe warmers are, I swear I'm catching a red eye and I will personally introduce them to you.

Today was swimming day. Originally I was going to the Y to crank out the yardage, but I haven't been in a wet suit for a month. So, after work, I headed over to the beach with Trihubby, who graciously sat on the beach smoking a Romeo and Julietta while I thrashed out my yardage.

I should have known it was going to be tough when I saw the local PADI class in dry suits. And there I stood in my sleeveless. Can anyone say silicon ear plugs? Obviously, I can't, because I never thought to ask for them at the sporting goods store. They've pulled the swim beach buoys, the birds have headed south (thankfully) so it was just me and the shoreline. A guy sat on shore playing a guitar and singing. If it was an improv concert there might have been a song about the triathlete who turned into an ice cube.

"Oh, it might be 60" responded the very warm, dry suited diver I asked for the lake temp. Uggghhh. But that shouldn't bother you, you're an Ironman.

Whaaa? Oh, he means my Ironman wetsuit. Can't say I didn't like the sound of that though, and we are getting so close, it seemed silly to belabour him with the details of branding, my training etc.

On the bright side, chiggars can't live in that cold of water. At least I hope.

Commodore probably thinks I'm a wimp because he was saying something about Tempe Town Lake being a bit frosty, but I didn't wimp out. I just noted that my arms were burning and red when I finally emerged and my eardrums were frozen. Other than that, no problem.

And now, drumroll !.!.!.!.!

Trihubby is officially in the off season, so he didn't take the plunge in the lake with me. However, he did the IMmoo '07 belly flop this morning and validated his yellow registration slip with a credit card number.

He's in!

I'm so proud!

To commemorate the day he is launching his own blog. Yea! No more looking over my shoulder and saying, you should write this, or write that etc. He's a smart guy, so go check him out and leave him some bloggie love. By day he might be Trihubby, but by evening (and a few early mornings) he will be


Taconite Boy!!!!

How Trihubby got his Man Card back

1) He went and bought something shiny which seems to be the thing that gives cred in the animal kingdom. Sorry, no bike porn, but he's working on that.

2) He knew that Trimama was tired of feeling like a mom/housekeeper/triathlete so he suggested we go out on a date. He open her doors, held her hand and, well you know, Trihubby is the only one who can make Trimama feel like a natural woman. (sing it with me)

3) He took Trimama shopping for clothes.

Now, some of Trimama's clothes have the dubious distinction of being "mom sheik". Ladies you know what I'm talking about. It's the "fat jeans" and baggy sweatshirt. The clothes that do absolutely nothing to flatter Trimama's new, sexy, hot, iron body. (I can't belive I just said that, I think Kahuna is getting to me.

Earlier in the day I had dropped by REI to pick up a swim suit. This is my second swim suit in as many months. The last one I bought has the unseemly characteristic of sliding down my hips every time I turned at the wall. 3600 yards equalled a lot of slipping. It was a little embare-assing if you know what I mean. I also grabbed a pair of awesome black yoga pants to replace the pair that Trihubby had heretofore banned to the waste land of "below mom sheik", meaning, why do you wear those they do absolutely nothing for your hot little booty.

"Oh you got some new work pants."

Aye Carumba! My great new yoga pants never left the mom sheik ballpark. Work clothes being only slightly more flattering than mom sheik. I'm a trainer at the YMCA, what do you expect?

Off to the store we go. Shop, shop, shop.

"Here, try these on." handing me a pair of black pants that look startlingly like the yoga pants I had just bought, only slightly fuzzy.

I emerged from the dressing room to a Trihubby's "Whoa" and nodding approval.

Exactly how are these different than mom sheik?

"Because they are tight on your hot little booty" (fill in hand gesture here.)

Trihubby loves Trimama. Trihubby loves Trimama's body.

And that's man enough for me. Welcome back to the club.

The adventures of Trimama and Taconite Boy

Frankly folks, I'm a little worried. Not so much about Florida any longer, thank you so much for your comments and support, and I had a good chat with my head doc, she's easily one of the best ever, so I think I'm pretty good to go.

No, it's Taconite Boy that has me concerned. You know, when he came home singing along to Kelly Clarkson I thought perhaps his man card had just dropped out of his wallet. But then, after many years of cajoling, Trihubby finally heeded my advice and took his muscle cramped body to a massage therapist. An hour later he called, extolling the virtues of massage therapy, with three more appointments booked.

"I smell good" and by good, he didn't mean Old Spice body spray. He meant lemon lilac, aroma therapy, good.

That's nice honey.

The man card is in serious jeapordy.

The smell of burning masculinity fully erupted last night when Taconite Boy directed me to iTunes to hear some samples of Clay Aiken's new album, which happens to be a cover of some the sappiest love songs ever.

Frankly the whole male wing of the tri alliance has me a little unnerved. What with reports of skinny jeans, plundering a wife's personal products for ice packs and of course, fretting over, company coming we seem to be experiencing a serious drop in testosterone in the blogosphere.

Gentlemen, there was a time when we ladies could expect this
from the male tri community.

For the love of all things good, can someone please go sit in the garage and smoke a big ole stogie, listening to Motley Crew?

I mean if you want to harden that taconite body into a Wisconsin Iron Beast, we'll need a little something to work with.

PSA over

Trimama out!